


Ways to Solve Your Problems (You're Not Doing It Correctly, Zitao)

by SlimeQueen



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Dysfunctional Relationships, M/M, Rimming, Snowballing, Threesome, i have been working on this taoxingdae forever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-13
Updated: 2015-08-13
Packaged: 2018-04-14 11:53:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4563603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlimeQueen/pseuds/SlimeQueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zitao gets angry and does some things he shouldn't have.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ways to Solve Your Problems (You're Not Doing It Correctly, Zitao)

**Author's Note:**

> I LIVE FOR EXO-M RELATIONSHIPS OT6 AF  
> Please do not steal or post my work on any other website without my permission. Thank you!

Zitao wants to scream.

Zitao wants to scream and yell and cry and throw things. Preferably at Duizhang’s face. His stupid, too long, too handsome face.

But instead, he finds solace in shuffling into Yixing’s room. Jongdae lays sprawled on Yixing’s bed, and Zitao doesn’t even want to comprehend what that means, because _what the fuck_ those two never argue and why the hell does Zitao have to be in a fucking dysfunctional ass relationship with the tall idiot that calls himself their leader.

Yixing takes one look at Zitao’s furrowed eyebrows and tearstained face before he’s up an across the room, the oddly protective maternal side of him showing through as he presses a small hand to Zitao’s cheek to wipe away droplets of water, the other wrapping around his waist comfortingly. Zitao thanks his stars Lu Han and Minseok are out for the day doing who knows what, because he doesn’t need more people to see his embarrassing display of emotion.

“What’s wrong?” Jongdae immediately asks in Korean, before catching himself and repeating, “Ah- what’s wrong?” this time in Mandarin. Zitao shakes his head as he’d led to the bed and Yixing makes him sit down, fleeting fingers catching his tears easily.

He doesn’t know what exactly caused him to crack, but he feels so tired, so young and he can’t deal with Yifan’s shit right now. The craving for something nicer, for something more gentle, washes over him as he pulls his knees up to his chest and sobs again.

Jongdae, always the one for human contact, has an arm around the maknae as he raises his eyebrows in alarm and tries to silently ask Yixing about the current situation.

Yixing shrugs almost imperceptibly and sits on Zitao’s other side on the bed, reaching over and grabbing a tissue box before dabbing lightly at Zitao’s face with one. As soon as he dubs the younger’s face no longer swollen and damp, he stands and ruffles Zitao’s hair affectionately. “Let me make you some tea, Taozi.” He murmurs, and then he’s gone, slipping out the door gracefully.

“Lie down,” Jongdae says in Korean before smiling sheepishly and saying it again in Mandarin. Zitao corrects his pronunciation softly and Jongdae hums his thanks as he shifts over on the small bed and pats his thigh invitingly.

Zitao feels so starved of this kind of contact, so he complies automatically. As soon as his head hits Jongdae’s thighs, the Korean boy has a hand through his inky hair, petting it absentmindedly. The last time Yifan had touched his hair flashes in his head, the pleasant ache spreading in his scalp when Duizhang had pulled. This touch is so different, Jongdae’s short nails pulling through the silky strands easily without catching even once.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Jongdae asks quietly.

Zitao knows Jongdae won’t even understand most of what he’s saying, but before he can stop it, the words escape his mouth in a waterfall of sobs and hitching breath. “Duizhang is the _worst,_ ” he finds himself murmuring, “It’s like he doesn’t even care and when I try to do nice things for him it’s like he ignores me and he never does nice things back but I try so hard and he doesn’t even care!”

Jongdae hums softly when he finishes, and although he probably can’t comprehend all the Mandarin, the small sympathetic gesture is nice all the same.

“I’m not even going to pretend to understand, but you should talk to Duizhang about what’s bothering you. I’m sure he’ll get it if you just talk it out.” Jongdae says in Korean, because Zitao’s Korean is so much better than his Mandarin.

“I don’t _want_ to talk it out.” He complains, burying his face in the soft flesh of Jongdae’s thigh. The elder squeaks a little at the tickling sensation but makes no move to push him off. “I just need some time alone. Without him.”

Jongdae makes another noise in his throat and continues stroking Zitao’s hair, only stopping when Yixing comes back into the room with a steaming mug in his hands. He coaxes Zitao into sitting position before handing off the tea and squeezing onto the tiny bed with the other two.

As Zitao soaks in the warmth Jongdae’s body provides, he sips on the lightly sweetened tea. He feels overwhelmingly young, overwhelmingly—for lack of better word for it— _maknae._ Jongdae’s soft sharp Korean sounds in his ear, reminding him of pre-debut days and a little boy from Qingdao with big dreams in a scary foreign country.

Being treated like he’s young—it makes his chest bubble happily and something pricks at his eyes as he sighs and goes lax against Yixing’s hand that soothingly rubs up and down his thigh. Yifan is always so rough, from his manner of speaking to the way he sends flashes of heat through Zitao’s body with teasing fingers and hot palms, like an unconquerable flame, engulfing him from inside out. Yixing’s hands are soft and warm in comparison and Jongdae’s voice is so different from the deep rumble Yifan has.

The attention makes him preen a little, his spine straightening as Yixing begins to creep his fingers slowly up Zitao’s thigh, cautious and a little hesitant. Wordlessly, Yixing knows what Zitao needs.

Maybe in the morning, when betrayal will inevitably flash over Yifan’s handsome features, he’ll regret it, maybe he’ll beg for forgiveness, maybe they’ll kiss and make up with shaky breath and gentle, reverent hands, but for now, Zitao knows exactly what he wants.

Zitao parts his lips and Yixing leans in. The elder’s slim fingers cup his jaw as their lips meet, and Zitao finds himself melting into the touch, warmth seeping into his bones as Jongdae settles further into his side and noses into his neck. Zitao giggles breathlessly because fuck, it tickles, and he hasn’t been touched so nicely in such a long time.

Yixing’s lips move softly on his, small tongue flicking out to lick over the his lower lip uncertainly before shaking off the worry and kissing him deeply, the hand on his jaw tightening a little before it slides down to press against the sensitive skin of his neck where his pulse races under the surface.

Yixing licks the taste of tea from his mouth with a tentative tongue, and then pulls back with a last lingering kiss to look questioningly at Jongdae, who glances back at him and nods quickly. The kind of silent conversation they have makes Zitao a little jealous, if not sad for the fact that he and Yifan can’t seem to communicate anywhere near that level. Jongdae takes the nearly empty cup from Zitao’s hand and sets it on the nightstand.

Suddenly Yixing backs off and Jongdae slides into his place, arms swinging around Zitao’s shoulders as he presses curved lips to the corner of the younger’s mouth. If Yixing is precautious with his mouth, then Jongdae is the exact opposite, open with his affection as he conveys all his happiness and enthusiasm with his lips instead of the language he barely understands. His tongue sweeps playfully into Zitao’s mouth, and Zitao whines a little as Jongdae slips into his lap and pulls him closer.

Yixing is behind him then, snaking his hands down to tug once at the bottom of Zitao’s shirt, silently asking for permission. Zitao raises his arms in answer and Yixing pulls the shirt over his head, mussing up his hair in the process. Jongdae laughs and smooths down the black mess on his head, then resumes kissing, hands trailing over Zitao’s tanned torso to feel the taut muscles shift under his skin.

“Xing-ge,” Zitao mumbles quietly, “fuck, why—“ he gets cut off as Yixing hushes him under his breath and pulls him down so his back lies flat against the bed. Jongdae stays sitting on his hips, pinning him down and giving him a pleasant smile.

“If you want this,” Yixing says, “Say it now. Yes or no, Tao?”

Zitao thinks about the plush downturn of Yifan’s lips. He thinks about the way Yifan’s earrings glint in the early morning sunlight, how his body feels tangled with Zitao’s own, the warmth his fingers feel when they intertwine with together with Yifan’s. The tight grip of Yifan’s hands on his hips, the deep torrent of words that spill from the elder’s mouth, the way his eyebrows furrow when he’s upset.

Then he thinks about the smooth curve of Jongdae’s mouth, and of the lazy smiles Yixing throws at him, of the easy way they revolve around each other.

“ _Yes_.” Zitao breathes.

Yixing’s laugh sounds like bells chiming as he leans down and presses his lips to Zitao’s forehead, tilting his head up to slide his lap under Zitao’s head. Yixing idly pets at the coal-black hair that splays onto his thigh as Jongdae busies himself playing with the waistband of Zitao’s jeans. There’s something warm brewing in the elder’s eyes as he watches Jongdae fumble with the button before grinning triumphantly and pulling it open.

Casual affection doesn’t come easily to Yifan. It took Zitao months to get the idiot to even hold his hand without getting freaked out, but the open display that Yixing and Jongdae have is almost unbearable to look at. Envy flares deep in Zitao’s chest but he pushes it down.

Jongdae’s mouth pulls up into an easy smile, eyes crinkling pleasantly as he leans down and presses a kiss to Zitao’s jaw. He whispers something in Korean that Zitao doesn’t know the meaning of and licks over the sharp line.

“He asked if he can, ah, suck you off.” Yixing translates, cheeks reddening a fraction. “Although I think he was asking me, not you.” Nevertheless, both Chinese men nod in unison and Jongdae’s face lights up. Zitao’s jeans get pulled down his thighs quickly by eager hands, which soon slide up to rub at the junction where his legs meet.

Yixing’s hands curl into his hair and tilt his head up for a kiss the exact second Jongdae’s too-warm fingers slip past the waistband of his briefs. Zitao arches up automatically into the feeling as Jongdae begins to stroke the base of his cock, working him up slowly. His legs draw in unconsciously, knees knocking against Jongdae’s back.

They work in synch, Yixing’s tongue flicking past Zitao’s lips at the same time Jongdae wraps his fingers around the base of the maknae’s cock, teasingly running his fingertips over warm skin just enough to get Zitao squirming. The Korean boy grins brightly before sliding the briefs down Zitao’s thighs, knuckles grazing the tanned skin in the movement.

A shiver runs down his body as Jongdae finally wraps his hand around the base of his erection, ducking down to flick his tongue out, tasting at the head. Yixing’s lips part as he deepens the kiss, and it should be awkward because he’s upside down over Zitao, but somehow it isn’t and it just feels so _nice_.

“Make those pretty noises for us, Taozi.” Yixing breathes against his lips, “Like you do for Duizhang. We all hear you two at night. We know how cute you sound.”

Jongdae chooses that second to wrap his lips around the head of Zitao’s cock, the hot insides of his cheeks clamping tightly to reveal high cheekbones. Zitao moans immediately, voice hitching when Yixing trails a hand down his chest to thumb at his nipples, making them perk involuntarily. Yixing’s fingers are calloused from playing guitar, so different from Yifan’s soft ones, and Zitao can’t help the way his body startles.

Something warm builds in Zitao’s stomach when Jongdae inches his mouth down centimeter by centimeter, practically taking Zitao down his throat as he tightens his grip on the base, free hand coming to squeeze Zitao’s thigh.

Yixing pauses kissing him to look up, eyes warm and strangely focused as he watches Jongdae slide down another inch. He looks up through his eyelashes, catching Yixing’s eye and blinking a couple times before sweeping his gaze over Zitao’s torso, stopping at the clenched abdominals and studying the tan skin.

Without warning, he sucks, the muscles in his throat convulsing around Zitao’s cock before he’s pulling off, tearing at the eyes and clearing his throat roughly.

Zitao makes to get up immediately, but Yixing pins him down with small hands and murmurs, “He knows his limits.”

Indeed, Jongdae is back on him in a second, the inside of his mouth unbearably slick and warm as he presses his tongue flush to the underside of Zitao’s erection, eyes sparkling mischievously as he wraps his fingers around what he can’t fit in his mouth. Jongdae begins jerking him off at a torturously slow pace, squeezing his thighs to keep his hips in place.

“F-fuck,” Zitao cries when Jongdae swallows around him, mouth tightening rhythmically.

“Does Duizhang teach you such bad language?” Yixing chides lightly, biting down on Zitao’s bottom lip and tugging lightly before sucking it into his mouth. Zitao wants to make some sort of snarky remark but Yixing’s tongue sweeps over his lip the same time Jongdae’s brushes his frenulum and he can’t think properly, the words getting stuck in his throat.

“We should reteach you some manners.” Yixing mumbles. “Say please and maybe we’ll let you come.”

Zitao nearly jerks in surprise when Jongdae hums in agreement, sending vibrations fluttering up his body. Trust Jongdae of all people to understand that in Chinese. Yixing bites down harder on his lip, and then sucks away the sting again.

Jongdae’s mouth tightens again, and his cock twitches as the feeling in his belly expands. “Please,” Zitao breathes, “Please Yixing-ge, please let-“

Jongdae swallows again, pushing his mouth down to the base of his erection, then draws back until his lips only stretch around the head.  “Come.” Yixing whispers, voice like honey, and Zitao obeys, body jerking as he lets go. Pleasure washes through him and he gasps softly into Yixing’s mouth as his eyes squeeze shut.

He hadn’t pegged Jongdae as much of a swallower, not like Yifan always makes him do, but to his surprise, Jongdae licks him clean easily, but doesn’t swallow it down. He holds Zitao’s come in his mouth and with an eyebrow raise at Yixing, he’s leaning over to press his lips to the elder Chinese man. Zitao can’t do anything but watch with wide eyes as Jongdae curls his fingers into Yixing’s hair and kisses him, mouths sliding open against each other.

It’s messy, he notices with some borderline revulsion. Yixing has a drop of come running down his lips when Jongdae distributes everything into his mouth. It’s really messy.

Jongdae licks away the stray droplet and grins wolfishly down at Zitao after Yixing swallows easily. “That was good, right?” he asks. Zitao nods, eyes widened as Jongdae leans down and presses their lips together. His mouth tastes bitter and Zitao should be grossed out, but somehow it’s nice because Jongdae is so nice and Yixing is stroking his hair gently, and everything feels so _nice_ when they’re pampering him like this.

Later, Yixing and Jongdae sandwich Zitao between themselves on the too-small bed and hold him tightly. Jongdae mumbles stories in Korean, and after a while they turn into white noise in his ears as he drifts off to sleep.

*

Zitao wakes up to an empty bed, Yixing standing over him with a friendly smile.

One look at the digital clock on the table tells him its morning, late enough that everyone else should be awake by now. Everyone but their lazy Duizhang.

“Breakfast.” Yixing murmurs as Zitao sits up and stretches, a satisfied sigh escaping his lips when his spine cracks loudly.

To his surprise, Yifan is sat at the table, golden hair falling messily into his face as he skims the newspaper. When he hears Zitao and Yixing approaching, he throws them a _look_ , eyes immediately falling on the way the dancer’s hand rests casually on Zitao’s hip.

Zitao ignores him, sliding into the seat between Jongdae and Lu Han, purposefully not meeting the Duizhang’s eyes. Jongdae smiles through heavy sleepy eyes and tips his head to the side, resting it on Zitao’s shoulder. It’s not too out of the ordinary, but Yifan’s lips curl a fraction as he watches, storm brewing behind the frown settled on his mouth and the burning in his eyes.

Zitao doesn’t spare him a glance, holding his bowl out for Yixing to fill with rice.

Yifan’s lips curl in poorly restrained fury as he stands from his seat, the chair scraping painfully loud across the floor as it jerks back. Zitao feels cold dread settle into his bones as Yifan sends him one last stomach-churning look and retreats to his room, slamming the door shut after him.

“Well.” Lu Han blinks in the deafening silence. “It seems he’s upset by something.”

Minseok doesn’t even look up from his bowl of rice.

*

Zitao wills himself to stay away from Yifan’s room, he wills and wills and wills, but as the ugly clock Lu Han had bought them strikes noon, Zitao can’t help his eyes wandering towards Duizhang’s closed door.

“I know what you’re thinking.” Yixing says, looking up from his guitar. He’s sprawled on the couch across from Zitao, lazily strumming melodies on his guitar to pass the time. “Is it worth it?”

Despite his sleepy eyes and docile appearance, there’s a surprising amount of sharp clarity in the dancer’s eyes and Zitao find himself staring for a second at the slim dexterous fingers plucking absently at the strings of the instrument before he catches himself and turns away.

“I don’t know.” Zitao admits, and frowns immediately after. “I mean-“

“You don’t have to explain your words to me, Tao.” Yixing hums quietly. He goes back to strumming the guitar and Zitao goes back to staring at Yifan’s door.

*

It’s nearly three o’clock and Zitao gives in.

Jongdae gives him the _look_ as he shuffles with his head hung to Yifan’s door.

“Shut up.” Zitao snaps. Jongdae blinks and stretches out on the couch. His eyes follow the maknae across the room to Yifan’s door, and although he doesn’t say anything, Zitao knows he must be biting his tongue. He’s sick of waiting. He’s taken three showers for lack of anything to do, tried to watch a drama with the two eldest, only for Lu Han to frown and shove him away, complaining that he was _thinking too loudly_.

Surprisingly, the door isn’t locked. It creaks as it opens, and Zitao finds himself wincing at the noise as he lets himself in. The lights are off, save for the lamp between the two small beds. His eyes find Yifan at the head of his bed, huddled over his laptop, golden hair falling messy in his face as he types something, long fingers flitting over the keyboard with a rhythmic _click click click._

The sound of the door opening makes Yifan look up and widen his eyes in surprise when he sees Zitao’s frame in the doorway. “Well.” He says rather blankly, “I wasn’t expecting you so soon.”

Zitao doesn’t respond, moving to stand at the foot of the bed. The door swings shut behind him as he sits down gingerly, eyes on the plain navy bedspread.

When he finally looks up, Yifan’s expression makes his chest ache. There’s a kind of desperate helplessness in his eyes, like he doesn’t understand what he did wrong, doesn’t understand why Zitao would do this, can’t comprehend the current situation.

Unused to seeing the usually stoic Duizhang like this, Zitao automatically reaches out with the intention of cupping his face, heart set on comfort. Only when Yifan flinches at the movement does he withdraw his arm quickly.

The silence is deafening.

“I’m sorry.” Zitao finally mumbles. His fingers shake as they curl into the hem of his shirt, and he doesn’t dare look up from the bedspread even as Yifan’s eyes burn into his head. The tears blurring his eyes nearly overspill and he blinks rapidly, trying to get them to not fall. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” His voice cracks but he keeps repeating the words until they sound like a mantra.

The weight on the bed shifts and Zitao raises watery eyes to find Yifan shutting his laptop and leaning over, mouth turned down in the frown, eyebrows furrowed. Zitao’s initial thought is anger, but then cool relief melts in his chest as he realizes its concern. Long slender fingers brush over his face, catching the tears on the tips and flicking them away neatly. Yifan doesn’t get any closer, doesn’t touch any other part of him.

“Fuck, don’t do that,” Yifan curses softly, and Zitao wants so badly to reach over and smooth the crease between his eyebrows, but he doesn’t deserve it, not when Yifan feels so hurt but is somehow the one soothing _him_.

After a second, Yifan pulls away and wraps long arms around his shins, resting his chin on the tops of his bony knees as he examines Zitao with bright eyes. “Why did you do it?” he asks finally. His voice is quiet, too deep in the silence of the room. The noiselessness stretches on as Zitao collects his thoughts.

“I was angry.” Zitao finally says, and his voice sounds so tired, even to himself. “I try so hard for you all the time but it doesn’t matter because you don’t even care. Why are you always so cold to me?” His voice breaks somewhere mid-sentence and more tears spill over, but he can’t bring himself to brush them away and Yifan sits still on the other side of the bed, watching the downpour with sharp dark eyes.

Zitao’s insides feel like they’re collapsing in on themselves when Yifan finally sighs deeply and reaches into the space between them. “Come here, Zitao.” His voice is soft and a little apprehensive, brows knitting together. When Zitao doesn’t move, he huffs softly and shifts on the bed himself, tucking the younger into his side.

The way their bodies fit together is altogether unconventional, with too many long limbs and uncomfortably placed bony bits, but when Yifan’s breath washes over his neck, Zitao finds himself going limp into the touch. “You can’t sleep with Jongdae every time you get upset with me, baby.” Yifan whispers quietly. He sounds even more tired than Zitao, and suddenly the bags under his eyes and the downturn of his plush mouth is more visible than ever.

Cold embarrassment washes through Zitao’s veins along with shame and something else that makes his stomach churn. “And Yixing,” he adds weakly. “Jongdae and Yixing.”

Yifan’s eyebrows quirk in surprise. “And Yixing.”

The silence stretches on, practically tangible with how thick it is as Zitao buries his flushed face in his hands, too ashamed to look up. “I’m sorry.” He mumbles again. A second later there are long fingers tugging his wrists down from his face. Yifan’s face is too close when Zitao finally raises his eyes, but once their eyes meet, he can’t look away.

“Do you really think I don’t care about you?” the Duizhang asks, and Zitao feels ugly shame shoot through him. He knows Yifan tries hard, for the group, for Zitao, and for everything else he does. He feels childish and upset and the way Yifan’s eyes soften when he looks into them makes it worse.

“I- I just,” He trails off when Yifan intertwines their fingers and raises their hands to his mouth to press his warm lips against the back of Zitao’s hand. “I-“ he frowns and ducks his head down. “Don’t do that. I can’t think when you do things like that.”

Instead of letting him go, Yifan pulls him even closer and wraps his free arm around Zitao’s body, nosing into his neck slowly. “Don’t think.” He murmurs. “Just let me do this.” The warmth of Yifan’s face against his neck has his head tilting back automatically, baring his throat for older man. “Tell me what Yixing and Jongdae did to you.”

Zitao squirms uncomfortably at those words, practically writhing as Yifan exhales against his adam’s apple, making goosebumps erupt over the back of his neck and his upper arms. “They,” Zitao licks his lips nervously, “They kissed me. And ah, Jongdae sucked me off.”

Yifan doesn’t say anything for a long time, breathing steadily against his neck. Zitao can practically feel Yifan thinking, mind on overdrive as he processes and makes up a corresponding consequence.

Instead of the punishment Zitao is sure he deserves, Yifan snakes a hand down, resting it against Zitao’s taut abdomen. “Was he any good?” After a second of shocked silence, he adds, “Jongdae, I mean.”

Zitao’s neck is starting to cramp from the angle he keeps it craned, but he doesn’t want Yifan to let him go so he sighs noisily and answers honestly. “Yes.”

Suddenly, Yifan is shifting, grabbing Zitao’s shoulder and pushing him down onto the mattress. He gasps as his back hits the sheets and Yifan leans over, eyes dark with something that makes his insides churn. “Turn over.” Yifan demands, “Onto your knees.”

Zitao does so immediately, settling on his elbow and knees, mind a flurry of thoughts and worries as he wonders what Yifan is going to do. He hasn’t been angry in so long, and the anticipation is sending hot tremors of both fear and excitement through him.

“I want you to know something, Tao. I’m upset. I’m very upset.” Yifan’s voice hitches a little but he clears his throat and continues. “But what makes me angry is the Yixing and Jongdae were there to help you when I wasn’t.” Zitao’s shoulders jerk in surprise, but Yifan quickly places his warm palm between the maknae’s shoulder blades to keep him quiet.

With strangely gentle, deft fingers, Yifan tugs at Zitao’s sweatpants, sliding them quickly down his legs. Next goes his shirt, piled on the floor atop the pants, along with his briefs. Left bare and kneeling, Zitao shivers at how exposed he feels.

“You’re shaking.” Yifan notes, palm coming to rest on the curve of his hip. He hadn’t been aware. Yifan’s fingertips dance up the line of his spine, barely touching, and he buries his face in his forearms in embarrassment. “Do you know what I'm going to do to you?” Yifan’s hand slides down, warm against the swell of his ass.

Zitao exhales shakily and whispers, “I don’t.” His breath quickens as he feels the bed behind him shift. Suddenly, Yifan’s hands curve over his ass, holding him open. As Yifan kneads the malleable flesh, Zitao wonders vaguely if he’s about to be hit. A wave of arousal crashes through him at the thought, but his heart clenches and he wants to recoil in trepidation.

His cock fills slowly between his legs as Yifan spreads his thighs by knocking his knees against them, and Zitao kind of hates himself for it, for how easily Yifan’s touch gets him worked up. “Ease up, angel.” Yifan murmurs, but the way his voice deepens and rumbles only sends jolts of lightning up Zitao’s spine. Yifan ducks down, pressing warm lips to the small of Zitao’s back, but the tension in his muscles doesn’t fade.

Zitao likes to think Yifan is like thunder, slow and rumbling, a presence that demands attention. Now, with the older man’s breath against the base of his spine, Zitao knows he’s right as Yifan spreads his ass more, holding him open with his thumbs. Every fiber of Zitao’s being is finely tuned to Yifan, from his steady breathing to the way his fingers rub slow circles into the flesh of his hip.

Without warning, Yifan bends over and presses his lips flush against Zitao’s ass, tongue flicking out to trace his rim. “D-duizhang! What-?” Bolts of shock crash through Zitao’s system as Yifan insistently flattens his tongue against his hole, rendering him limp and useless.

Yifan’s tongue is too hot, too soft, too wet, _too much_ for him to handle as he teases the younger over and over, flickering over his hole before retreating, only to repeat the action over and over. Zitao can feel the knot in his stomach tightening as Yifan’s mouth works methodically over him, breaking him down bit by bit until he’s incoherent with how much he _needs_.

“Can Yixing do this to you?” Yifan demands roughly, and Zitao can’t answer, not trusting the state of his voice as Yifan finally tongues into him, licking deep into him. A high whine escapes his lips and Yifan shoves his tongue in deeper, then pulls out completely. “Can Jongdae?”

Zitao knows they can’t, of course they can’t, not when Yifan is bringing him so close to the edge in no time at all, then dragging him away just as easily. “N-no,” he keens quietly.

Yifan hums appreciatively and kisses his rim briefly before lapping at him with broad swipes of his tongue that make Zitao’s knees go weak, and then thrusts back in. The concept itself, _tonguefucking_ , makes Zitao want to bury his face in his hands and never look up again, but Yifan keeps rubbing gentle circles into his hips with his fingertips, murmuring quietly every now and then, “You know I love you, right?” and “I’ve got you, angel, don’t go to Yixing or Jongdae.”

Zitao’s body feels like it’s been lit on fire when Yifan snakes a hand down to tug on his cock a couple times, pace unhurried by Zitao’s frantic breathing. His tongue moves in the same languid way, curling deep inside Zitao before retreating a couple centimeters.

Tears prick at the younger’s eyes and with a high cry, he’s coming, pressing his face into the sheets to muffle the embarrassing noise. The knot in his stomach tightens, and then explodes as he spills into Yifan’s soft hand, his upper body giving and falling into the sheets. Yifan carefully collects all his come with his fingers and stands fluidly, walking over to the dresser to fish a couple tissues from the box and wiping his hand clean.

Zitao watches from the bed and snorts quietly. Yifan is willing to shove his tongue up his ass but refuses to swallow because he ‘ _hates the taste of that shit_ ’. The look in the elder’s eyes is soft as he discards the tissues and returns to the bed, sinking down to press his lips flush against Zitao’s. The way he kisses is soft, almost desperately gentle as he guides his tongue in and sweeps it over Zitao’s bottom lip.

“You silly boy,” Yifan chides quietly, “Don’t think things like that again.” He pulls Zitao against his chest and curls their bodies together, hand coming up to stroke into the younger’s hair.

After a couple seconds, Yifan whispers, “I think we should ask Jongdae and Yixing to join us some time.” Zitao makes a faint noise in surprise but the prospect is actually kind of exciting, making something happy well up in his chest.

Later, Zitao reaches down with a spit-slicked hand and gives Yifan a slow sleepy handjob that has the leader panting softly against his neck, gasping quiet “ _I love you_ ”‘s as he comes into Zitao’s fist.

Zitao believes him.

**Author's Note:**

> i can't believe this had no actual intercourse in it lmao  
> [my tumblr](http://eatjinsass.tumblr.com) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/whinytaeyong) come hmu


End file.
